


castling

by Elisye



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Gen, also kinda goes without saying that there are spoilers for the whole game, dial the void for help with your procrastination, very faint hints of saiouma tbh im sorry for not trying harder welp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10048877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisye/pseuds/Elisye
Summary: If you think hard about it - chess isn't actually a game for two.





	

**Author's Note:**

> whispers im procrastinating like hell help
> 
> also unedited as fuck for the time being, sooooo expect some really shoddy writing that i didnt bother fixing up welp

  
"Saihara!"

You smile.

"Here's a question for you - how many players are there in chess?"

He frowns slightly. His hand reaches for a hat that's been long discarded, now idly pulling at navy-black in thought. A part of you, effortlessly so, thinks of it as a cute gesture. The rest of you, with a different sort of ease - the kind that can kill cockroaches and spiders without batting an eyelash - just as simply vanquishes the imagery and the feelings. You don't need those. You don't need those.

"...That depends, I suppose," Saihara eventually answers. His tone is slow and careful, so that means he's still thinking it over.

You have to smile wider, nonetheless. "Depends? You don't say!"

He nods with a faint hum. "In chess, there can only be two players. But... that's if we define 'players' as the people moving the pieces on the board. One person for the white pieces, and the second for the black pieces."

"Bravo, bravo!" You clap wholeheartedly. "That's the usual definition. I assume you've thought of others?"

"In a way."

There's a lingering pause. The detective's eyes wander off to the side - not quite in thought, but not in complete distraction either. You would love to refocus them back on you, to bring the spotlight back onto you during this temporary stageplay, but even your impatience isn't fast enough to actually do as much. Before you can start making pointless whines, Saihara looks back at you, the motion something almost crystal-sharp in its speed and concentration.

"Chess is played with two, but that's for the people controlling the pieces," he repeats himself. "If we think of the pieces themselves as players, then there's thirty two players in total. And that's not counting their controllers. Also..."

He trails off into a halting whisper, his face suddenly scrunched up with hesitation. You frown at that, arms leisurely crossed behind your head as you wait for him to pick up that line of thought - but he doesn't, and simply leaves it at that. How... disappointing. Awfully disappointing. But also, it's a curious thing. Why would he stop his reasoning right there? What did he realise that made him pull the brakes and sloppily, prematurely, reach a destination that isn't what perhaps either of you really intended?

You tilt your head at him quizzically. Saihara doesn't budge.

Looks like you'll have to find out another time.

 

 

 

He calls you pathetic and horrible, in an ever-soft voice, veiling the insults in a sense of subtlety.

It shouldn't hurt, but it does. The quiet finality only makes it worse.

So you ought to hold your head higher, just barely above the waves, and try to keep cracking a malicious smile at the rocks of the sea coast. You can feel it, certainly - your limit to this charade. But it has to keep going. This is a game of endurance and brilliance in so many ways.

To keep your heart going, you'll have to cut corners. As everyone gives you detestable looks, you return them with a glass serenity - tinted on one side, so no one can see the tremble of your facial muscles - and an eye for an eye. One gaze, one second. It's intended to be lasting and the last. It's also something meant to steel you for some kind of future. You keep the eye contact brief, until you come almost hesitantly to Saihara. His subdued but open expression of disapproval is still the same as ever.

You look into his eyes. They're a lovely grey. Under the cheap lights of the trial room, they take on a dull golden glint.

If you didn't know any better, you'd describe those eyes as sad.

But as if that's the case. He just called you out on your ruthless, cruel behavior. How could he ever pity you if he swallowed the lie?

You're just making illogical leaps.

 

 

 

Sometime, somehow -

In your research room, you find a small side table.

A chessboard has been left on it.

Oddly enough, only a few pieces are actually on it. Six white pieces - two rooks, one bishop, one king, two knights - and a single black pawn. They've been arranged as to completely ignore the board's squares, with the pawn mixed into the center of the clustered white pieces on one far side. On the other far end, a knight and a rook stand with a fair distance between them.

Considering the board and your environment, although it's something of an assumption without evidence, you're quite certain that the chessboard is supposed to be mimicking the current state of the killing game. Six genuine players, and one mastermind mixed among your number. You don't wonder who could have planted this taunt, however - no one's found your laboratory as far as you know, so the only other person besides yourself who could have is the mastermind. A rude little taunt indeed, you think with a sneer. Though, is that really all there might be to it...? Unless the mastermind was truly bored out of their mind to do this, there has to be a purpose behind even purposelessness.

Making sure not to disturb the board too much, you lift it up to find a paper, poor in quality and folded. There's a faint impression of blue ink from its reverse side - how careless of them.

A handwritten note could easily determine their identity. So bright red flags wave themselves as you cautiously open up it up, trying to retrace the moves of an unknown player across the board. It doesn't make any reasonable sense, in that second and a half that you use to furiously calculate the pros and cons and possibilities of ten raised to a hundred-twenty.

Turns out, you've been blind-sided a bit.

You know this handwriting. Seen it perhaps only once or twice, but the memory is vividly clear.

 

 

 

Saihara gives you a stiff smile. You can't return it.

"I'm not the mastermind. If I was, it would be a big mistake on my part to write that, wouldn't it?"

You just blink at him. There are plenty of questions you could ask him, start with, end with - all of them ring iridescently, to the point that the only word you can hear in the stream of your thoughts is _how._

The detective turns to one of the shelves in his laboratory. Disorderly papers, manila files. A small collection of poisons and antidotes.

"This game can't end if we follow the rules to an obvious ending," he murmurs and loses his smile, his eyes narrowed to gaze vacantly. You wonder if he's doing this on purpose. An act, much like the ones you've put on. Is he the mastermind after all? Your heart beats in utter rejection, even though you can still calmly accept the possibility. But, looking back on those tiny, odd moments - as much as they can pinpoint Saihara as clearly knowing more than he ought to, as a pawn in this game, that doesn't really mean he's specifically the mastermind now.

At least, you'd like to hope as much.

Brushing aside emotion, you fix the boy with a plain look. "Saihara, just who are you in this game, really?"

He takes a moment to turn back to you. He still isn't smiling, but the corners of his mouth twitch upward just a bit. "An illegal third player, I guess."

 

 

 

He tells you a simple tale.

Of a boy who blindly loved murder and mystery, and so wished to take the leading role in one.

Except it was all a lie - a dream fabrication, a nightmarish reality.

He gives you crystalline memories of a pianist, a prisoner, a maid, an artist, a fighter, a ritualist, a gentleman, an inventor - and then, unbelievable memories of an astronaut and a leader, and the revelations of a cosplayer and a robot.

He does it as he absently searches through a pile of messy, partly-crumpled pages filled with plans and arrow marks; it reminds you of the whiteboard back in your room.

After a long time, and a longer silence - Saihara looks over his shoulder and gives you a tired look.

"I wanted to stop everything right from the start, but trying to stop just yours and Momota's death has been hard enough so far. If I can't even manage that, then in a way, I guess this loop's done for."

Finality rings eternal. 

And so, understanding that, you refuse this preposterous game.

 

 

 

 

 

In the cafeteria, you play a game of chess.

Considering your title, you're not completely suited for something like chess. But it sounded like a good suggestion, so that's just how it is.

Ouma looks over the pieces in far too serious contemplation. Soon enough, he takes one of your knights with a bishop.

You follow the rules and take his rook in return.

It's such a normal game. But you know - this time, with a miracle, there are two witnesses who can all too easily thrash the board's arrangement by reaching out to it with their hands. Of course, it's not going to be such an easy thing in reality, but there's no better alternative than to try in the end.

"Checkmate!" Ouma grins, slamming down his other bishop to its new position. You fold your arms for a moment, staring keenly at the pieces out so far, before sighing.

It looks hopeless. But moving out of checkmate is what you've been trying the whole time.

You're determined not to let it keep happening.

 

 


End file.
